


In Between

by ladybugwarrior



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, No editing we die like mne, Protective Alfred Pennyworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybugwarrior/pseuds/ladybugwarrior
Summary: Sequel to my fic Being a Superhero, but it can be read alone.The speech was rather dry. Alfred knows that these Wayne Enterprise events aren’t Dick’s favorite activity in the world, and he would agree with him that they are exceedingly boring to sit through, although Alfred was much better at holding his tongue than any other member of the family. Still, Dick usually finds a way to sneak some of his natural charism and humor into the few speeches that he gives when Batman must leave for League business.Despite it all, Dick does a fantastic job. He knows how to carry a message and hold himself in front of a crowd. Alfred can’t help but feel proud of the man he’s become.That’s when he hears the bullet.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 246





	In Between

The speech was rather dry. Alfred knows that these Wayne Enterprise events aren’t Dick’s favorite activity in the world, and he would agree with him that they are exceedingly boring to sit through, although Alfred was much better at holding his tongue than any other member of the family. Still, Dick usually finds a way to sneak some of his natural charism and humor into the few speeches that he gives when Batman must leave for League business. Unfortunately for Dick, when his father was off world, he needed to fill in the role of both Bruce Wayne and Batman until he returned. That means attending board meetings, calling clients, and handling the Rogues’ Gallery. Alfred knows how bad the shadows under Dick’s eyes are under all that makeup, after all, he helped to put it on.  
Despite it all, Dick does a fantastic job. He knows how to carry a message and hold himself in front of a crowd. Alfred can’t help but feel proud of the man he’s become.

  
That’s when he hears the bullet. It’s not the crack of the it being expelled from the barrel of a rifle, no, that comes later. It’s the whistle in the air followed by the thick sound of the bullet hitting Dick’s neck. It’s followed by a spray of blood and Dick grasping at his neck as he stumbles to the ground. Then there’s the sound of the gunshot from across the pavilion, a signal for those standing in the crowd to duck and scream. Behind him, Alfred hears Gordon yelling in his radio for the location of the shooter. One of his hands tries to grab onto Alfred’s suit jacket to push him down, but he’s already out of reach, running to where Dick lies in a steadily growing pool of blood.

  
Alfred doesn’t think he’s moved this fast since the war, or maybe since he got the call that Bruce, the last living Wayne, was alone in an alleyway.

  
Dick’s free hand grasps at his shirt the moment that Alfred’s close enough for his finger to find purchase. After a nightmare, before he knew what his guardian did during the late hours of the night, Dick used to clutch at Alfred’s sleepshirts just like this. He’s always been such a physical person, an aspect of his personality that only dramatized during moments of distress. When Alfred looks into his eyes, all he can see is distress. It’s the hazy kind that comes with not understanding why the pain is there. His grandson has been shot more times that he would ever forgive himself for, but never like this. Dick Grayson is a brave person, he’s looked down thousands of gun barrels, so when he’s been shot, he’s always known why. It hurts, but it’s not unexpected or mysterious. Tears stream down his face and he looks for something to orient himself within Alfred, just like he did after a bad dream.

  
Alfred pulls Dick’s hand away from the wound as words tumble from his mouth. “Let me see. You’re going to be alright. I need to see how bad it is.”

  
The wound looks ugly. It didn’t go through and through Dick’s neck, rather, it grazed him and left behind a jagged wound that nicked his artery. Alfred closes his fingers around the tear and ignores the sticky wet feeling that covers his right hand as he uses his left to cradle Dick’s face. He wants to comfort the boy, but he also needs to keep Dick’s attention on him.

  
“Master Dick, you need to stay awake now. Do you understand me?” He holds back a grimace when Dick tries to speak, the motion obviously hurting him. “Don’t speak just pull on my shirt if you understand.”

  
There’s more force than Dick probably meant to use as he tugs on Alfred’s shirt. His hand shakes, and his legs move slightly as his body attempts to deal with the nervous energy that he’s built up from the adrenaline.

  
“Alright. The bullet only grazed you, but it did nick and artery, so I need you to stay as still as possible for me. Do you remember the grounding exercises Bruce taught you?” Another, regrettably weaker, pull on his shirt. “That’s very good. Focus on those. The ambulance will be here shortly.”

  
He pulls Alfred’s shirt back and forth, the closest thing he can do to shaking his head. “Dangerous,” he rasps, sweat forming on his brow from the effort. “Go.”

  
“Master Dick, I’d expect this type of idiocy from your father, not you.” Alfred tilts Dick’s face so he has no choice but to look at him. “I am not leaving you.”

  
Dick can’t help but look relieved. Alfred brushes the young man’s hair back and strains his ears to find the sound of an approaching ambulance.

  
“How is he?” Commissioner Gordon kneels next to them, weapon drawn, peering around the podium towards the direction the shot came from. His fingers press against Dick’s wrist. He tries to hide his grimace from Dick.

  
Blood still spills out from the wound, although slowed by Alfred, Dick can’t afford to continue bleeding at this result. “He needs a hospital, or else I don’t—”

  
He can’t finish the sentence, because he should be able to take care of this. If this had happened at night, Alfred could take care of the bleed in the Cave’s medbay like he did for all of their wounds. There are many delicacies to wounds like this. Arteries can be tricky to deal with, the tearing of the skin could produce a nasty scar if not stitched correctly, the wound would need to remain exceptionally clean, and he knows how to do this. He’s always done this. Throughout all of Dick’s broken bones and lacerations of varying severity, Alfred’s healed all of them. That’s what he does. He’s never been sidelined before.

  
He’s never had to see the wound happen before either.

  
Another bullet hits the podium. A wood splinter scratches across his forehead despite Gordon’s attempt to shield him.

  
“Shit,” Gordon whispers before he turns to him. “You need to get out of here.”

  
Alfred levels him with the same look he would give to Bruce when he found him kicking trees late on a school night. “Master Dick’s artery has been opened. You are an incredibly intelligent man, Commissioner, so you will understand my unwillingness to move my hand, let alone, leave my charge’s side.”

  
Gordon between Alfred, the location that the sniper is firing from, and an increasingly pale Dick. “Alright,” He begins to take off his jacket and unstrap his kevlar vest. “But you’re wearing my vest.”

  
Before he can even argue, Gordon puts the vest on over Alfred’s head and straps it around his waist, slowly, as to not compromise Alfred’s hold on Dick’s artery. “Don’t say anything about it, Mr. Pennyworth. I’m just doing my job.”

  
That moment, Dick’s hand dropped Alfred’s shirt and moved to Gordon’s, attempting to pull him down. He’s too weak, but Gordon recognizes the motion and meets him halfway.

  
“Bruce,” Dick whispers. “Tim, they could be in danger.”

  
Gordon hushes him. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  
Alfred knows that Bruce was watching the press conference, even though it was the middle of the night for him. No doubt by now Bruce is on his way to the airport on the phone with Tim, who most certainly has locked himself in the Batcave. He would need to send for him right away, perhaps he could bribe Jason into picking up his younger brother. They always do seem to get along better when Dick needs them.

  
A weak hand grasps his shirt again, and Alfred looks down to see Dick stumble around his words. “Don’t speak,” he says, even though he needs to hear Dick’s voice again. “Just keep looking at me. Focus on me and stay awake.”

  
Dick does his best. He keeps his eyes open until the paramedics come, but he doesn’t do much more than that. One of the paramedics tries to ask him question, but, even though he tries to form a response, he can’t get enough breath to make any sounds. He can barely move his mouth to form syllables at this point.  
Alfred has to stand back as they take hold of his grandson’s injury and load him into the ambulance. He isn’t related, so he can’t go with. The ambulance races off to Gotham General, leaving him behind with blood covered hands.

  
“Mr. Pennyworth,” Gordon puts his hand on Alfred’s shoulder, but he doesn’t look away until the ambulance leaves his line of sight, even then he lingers on the horizon line a little longer. “Get to the hospital.”

  
He clears his throat but has to stop himself from fixing his tie with his bloody hands. “I have to check on Master Tim. He could—”

  
“I’ll take him to the hospital. Dick needs you now.”

  
Alfred nods. He maintains his composure. “Thank you, Commissioner.”

  
Gordon nods and leaves to reconvene with his other officers, and Alfred takes the moment to look at the blood on his hands and pooled on the floor. He takes a deep breath, lets his shoulders sag and head fall. Slowly, his heartbeat returns to its healthy rhythm. Alfred straightens his back, and he carries on.

Wally takes Tim home once visiting hours ended and declined Alfred’s invitation to return first thing in the morning. Bruce is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and Wally knows well enough to give Bruce space. They all do. When he enters the room — while Alfred sits at Dick’s bedside — his silent intensity fills the room. To anyone who doesn’t know Bruce, it would feel oppressive, uncomfortable, but Alfred is well acquainted with Bruce’s grief. He knows as well as his own. The fear that motivates it, the anger it generates, and how intensely he feels it. It’s so similar to the way that Dick grieves.

  
When he moves, Bruce seems to push the air around him. The room moves around him until he’s at Dick’s side. The façade tries to break away at the sight of his eldest with bandages wrapped around his neck, and an IV line bringing blood into his body, but he doesn’t let it. He struggles against letting the emotions come out, and he nearly fails. He takes Dick’s hand.

  
“How is he?” Bruce asks.

  
“Doctor Mid-Nite came by, and he expects a full recovery. He was exhausted yesterday, so I doubt he’ll be waking up anytime soon.”

  
Bruce pulls over a chair to sit next to Alfred and speaks softly. “Who was it?”

  
“There was a coin left behind at the crime scene. Given that the speech was to endorse the upcoming District Attorney, I’d say that it’s safe to assume that his motivations were politically charged and not based on your night life.”

  
There’s an exhale, and Bruce sinks into the chair. “That’s something at least.”

  
They listen in companionable silence to the steady beating of Dick’s heart monitor.

  
“This keeps happening.”

  
Alfred sighs and picks at the blood that stains his white button down. He closes his eyes and sees Dick’s panicked face, and he sees Wally holding Dick’s hand as his shoulders shuttered from laughter and tears. He hears himself tell Dick to refrain from climbing on the cabinets while putting a band aid on a skinned knee. Dick stares up at him with bright blue eyes filled with confidence and mischief. Alfred smiles and moves to straighten the hospital bed sheets for the fifth time.

  
“And I don’t doubt that it will continue to happen, Master Bruce. All we can do is try and make him feel safe in between.”

  
Bruce nods and puts his hand over Alfred’s. He looks so much older, that it startles Alfred for a moment. It’s the moments like these when he notices how they’ve changed. Sometimes when Alfred looks at them, they’re still the children he raised. Alfred squeezes Bruce’s hand, and they wait.

**Author's Note:**

> if the ending feels a little rushed blame it on the fact that i'm a little tipsy and Really wanted to be done writing this so i could go to bed <3
> 
> [TUMBLR](dontfeedthebabytigers.tumblr.com)


End file.
